I can cook, just not well. No, I try to cook, without killing, and so far I have succeeded, but it's a day by day thing. It could be because I have always been happier outside or inside crafting or reading or whatever. None of which have anything to do with cooking.
I can cut calves, being fast and accurate with my knife, with the best of them. But cooking mountain oysters without having blowback all over cowcamp is not in my skillset.
Today, I wanted to cook a new (to me) version of Hoppin John and my own bacon cornbread concoction to bring Good Luck in this New Year. I told the old folks I was fixing these delights and they asked if they could have milkshakes instead...
"Nope, but your welcome to join me in a short prayer that we survive." I'll be darned, if mom didn't try to make the sign of the cross, and she's not even Cathlick.
At Dinner Mom has a tray in bed and Dad and I eat at the dinning room table. The Hoppin John turned out really well, and the bacon cornbread did too. Dad had two helpings of each, and mom ate most of hers as well.
pic from Everyday Dutch Oven
Dad has fallen in love with my Jack Russell, Willie, and is feeding him biscuits and what ever else he thinks that JR garbage receptacle would like. We have had a few discussions about not feeding him from your plate, but dad has selective hearing, and has missed all my pleadings.
As I was picking up mom's plate, I said, "Whoa, you ate it all."
"Yes I did," she said with a smirky smile. The only thing was... Dad and Willie had both moved back into the bedroom by then to watch their football game... and mom doesn't usually eat all her food.
"Are you sure You ate it all, You didn't feed Willie did you?" I asked.
"Oh No, I didn't feed Willie!" and then in her time honored way she threw Dad under the bus, "But Your Father Did!"